Do You Remember? 10 letters
by leave me light
Summary: Sheppard/Weir Letters 9 and 10 - "Still, there are some things that I want to say now, and in the future, things that should be said often and that will not lose any value in repetition."
1. Accept

**A/N:** First of 10 letters, written as part of the "10 letters" challenge livejournal.

#1 Accept

Do You remember how You always used to push me to talk about the hits I took out there, to anybody, because it would help to get things off my chest? Well, I tried it, went to Your quarters and started to say something, but somehow the words got stuck in my throat – it seems that I am scared of my own voice echoing back in an empty room. So now I am trying to write to You.

If this was a regular correspondence, You would have probably asked me how I was. I am fine, I would answer (in a letter, my voice and my face wouldn't be able to give me away), but, of course, You would immediately know better. Because You always used to say that "I am fine" is the most overused lie of convenience. And You were always perceptive enough to pick up on the fact that somebody who is talking to dead people cannot, by definition, be fine.

I AM fine, though, in the sense that I am able to function and do my job. That I know my responsibilities and the limit to which I can do anything about all this. I know You counted on me not to fall apart, gambled everything on it, so I couldn't possibly. I snap at Rodney, I try to offer Carter some sort of counterweight, I take my team to missions where I try not to get in trouble, but when I inevitably do, I still do all in my power to get everyone, including myself, back to Atlantis as undamaged as possible. I am fine.

Except that, even though in my head I know that You are gone, in the places that matter I can't seem to be able to accept it. I tried to convince myself – went to all the places in the city where You could be, simply not to find you there. Your office, where the gap You left has already been filled – in that room even I am not what I used to be with You around. Your corner table at the canteen, a space still pristinely unoccupied because, with Your office hours, who knows when Your lunch breaks are. The infirmary, the storage area, meeting rooms, jumper bay… Nothing. The balcony, the place where I am exactly what I was with You. Your quarters, Your belongings packed in a neat stack of crates, but still there – the room where Your absence reverberates and hums in the air, the place where You are most markedly… not.

But it's the strangest thing – now that You are nowhere, You seem to be everywhere. I am aware that this galaxy has a way of playing tricks with people's minds. More than once I have been cheated into seeing things that weren't really there and feeling things that I didn't really feel, but I think this is more than that. I have seen long gone friends as if they were standing next to me and been propelled to past events as if they were still rolling out around me, machines and monsters have tried to yank out my memories and create new ones that weren't real, but this is.

I don't see You rounding a corner of a hallway in front of me anymore or disappearing into the woods and caves on strange planets and in most nights I don't wake up screaming Your name, but You're there. In every breath I take. And I don't know if it's a feeling I have to shake in order to recognize that You are really gone, in order to be in control of myself again, but I sure hope that it's not because right now there are days when it seems to be the only thing to keep me going and there are days when it helps me to almost forget all the things that I have lost.

I am reading these lines that I have written and I'm trying to figure out if I actually got anything off my chest and maybe I did, but it still feels heavy. I thought this would do it – that I needed to somehow say it – "You are really gone" – in order to accept it, but now this letter feels more like an explanation than acceptance.

I have always been lousy at admitting things, even to myself, so I guess the truth, realizing what I really need to do, will take some time. It's alright. Time is still one of the few things I have plenty of.

John


	2. Regret

#2 Regret

Do You remember how many times You thought that you would never see me again? I can probably count the times when the thought of making it back to You drove me to fight harder. In chronological or alphanumerical order or according to the level of physical discomfort I was in at the time. It is almost ridiculous, borderline absurd, that in the end, it was You that didn't make it back. Of course it was stupid of me never to add that variable into the calculation.

You know, I guess I have always waited for that moment of regret to come. I was especially wary of it during the first few years, but the expectation still lingers somewhere in the back of my mind. Like I am waiting for the day when it all becomes too much, when I cannot stretch my mind wide enough, when I cannot be open enough to everything I see and battle and survive here.

I think You agree that it takes a lot out of you emotionally. Not only having to constantly add to the list of things that you are now forced to believe and living in the perpetual uncertainty of everything being possible (I know what a struggle it is to make any decisions in these conditions – where you can't really trust any truth that you have considered absolute until now; I step through that gate every time, clutching my gun under my arm, hoping that it will have any relevance to my survival once I get to the other side – as a soldier you have to be able to trust in your ability not to make matters worse, not to contribute to your own demise, and I can say that over here, that trust is sometimes not that easy to come by). But also the fact that every day you wake up reaffirming your commitment to be willing to die for this place, to be willing to give your life for whatever it stands for even if you can't quite grasp the whole meaning of it yet. So you create that meaning, that motivation for yourself – you tie yourself emotionally to your cause. Atlantis is your home, its well-being is your well-being, you count on it, you are lost without it. And yet it's all so God damned fragile and you have to admit that you are no match to the Universe that can smash it all like a bug with a blink of an eye.

So I wondered whether the day would come when I would regret coming here altogether. Or even knowing that all this exists. It seems ignorant, stupid, to want to shut yourself into your little bubble of a world, a waste of life not to see and experience and contribute as much as possible, I know. But sometimes, You must agree, ignorance IS bliss. It helps you sleep better at night and it certainly leaves you with a whole lot less to lose. So sometimes I ask myself whether I would at some point crave to exchange all this for that.

I've thought about this a lot these days, after losing You, during those nights that seemed to swallow me whole and the pain that made me curl up in my bed. I regret many things in my life and I am sure that the list of those is not closed yet, but I know now that I will never regret Atlantis, that it will always remain the best, most important decision of my life. It gave me a purpose. It gave me a family.

It gave me You.

John


	3. Similar

#3 Similar

Do You remember the first time we almost kissed? How about the last? I remember the last time, of course, but I got completely stuck trying to recall the first. It was like carefully tracing the path of our relationship back to the very beginning, trying out the feel and shape of moments, measuring the knot at the pit of my stomach. When did it begin? When was it just me? When did I notice Your gaze drifting the same way I am sure mine did, away from my eyes, stopping just a little bit lower?

It's a strange thing, the need for physical contact. You can try to rationalize it away, but in the end, the reason you come up with is still inherently irrational – you need it, to remind yourself that you are still alive, that you are not alone, that you are still human. Rationally, it shouldn't be necessary. I am sure that there are rather obvious signs to let you know when you have stopped living. Not being alone can be verified visually, as can be the being human thing. So it's not just the conscious part of you that needs the reassurance.

As long as the conscious part is in charge, though, you can fend off those treacherous needs. It's a weakness, of the body, of the flesh, and we are, of course, stronger than that, evolved above our instincts. We are busy and we have our tasks and this is not the time or the place and it's just plain inappropriate. And, in hindsight, it's a bit scary how easy it is to isolate that part of yourself, to make it so irrelevant and all those other, rational parts so predominant that pretty soon you don't even need to touch yourself.

But the thing about us, all of us, is that we don't realize how fragile this kind of suspension or status quo, if You will, is. The first touch is accidental, something completely innocent, completely lacking in any innuendo. Hands brushing together, words said too close to your face so that you can feel the breath against your skin. And it's a total shock to the system, because the system recognizes it for the natural course of things that it is. After that, even your conscious part can't put it away anymore. It's quite amazing what a person can convince himself of, but that thing, between a man and a woman, I've come to realize that it's one of our basic building blocks and as such part of everything we do.

So whether we realize it or not, we find more ways to touch (and, yes, I know that my transition here was admirably smooth, but now I am already talking about You and I) – hand on the small of Your back as I let You go through doorways in front of me, trying to emphasize a point by grabbing my arm, standing just a little bit closer. Our reactions to emotions are impulsive and physical – Your relief at seeing me step through that gate expressed by a tight hug, before You even realize what You are doing. And then, of course, You do realize.

One thing that I am really grateful for is that You never said, "We can't…" Of course we can't. That has nothing to do with it. There are a million reasons why we can't… couldn't and we wouldn't but… That last time alone should clearly demonstrate how completely irrelevant it all is. Because it won't go away. Sometimes all it took was one look from You, a twitch of Your lips, and I became a babbling idiot, listening with increasing bewilderment to the words that spilled out of my mouth. And You… You were the opposite, Your breath suddenly getting caught in Your throat and the words coming to a halt. Our hardware, so to speak, completely overriding our software.

Where does that kind of a connection come from? That kind of a particular primal physical reaction to a particular body, particular person? Sometimes it is just a question of needs meeting opportunity, being in a right place at the right time, being available. A look across the room, a glance at the wedding ring finger and it's all rather crass and right-here-right-now and then it's gone. There was nothing opportune about us, it was a dead end, we knew it was a dead end and still the connection persisted, only growing stronger and more demanding in time. An itch that was harder and harder to scratch.

All I can think of is that we matched – physically, chemically, intellectually. We were similar, with similar obstacles and similar awakenings and similar self-doubts, similar needs. We were equal, even if I always stood behind You. We were the same.

The last time, of course, was right before we really did kiss. It wasn't a mistake, it couldn't be helped. It will never happen again.

Love,

John


	4. Clean

Do You remember how on planets with different day cycles time seemed to move at a different speed? How on some it felt like the night had barely started when it was already morning and the whole day was a frantic struggle just to keep up with executing all the customary rituals before it was all dark again? And then on others it was as if a whole lifetime had passed before the afternoon turned into the evening which took another lifetime to descend into night?

I have grown steadily used to the fact that I don't need to travel to different planets anymore to experience that sensation. Though, by now it has grown less extreme. In the beginning it was unexpected and debilitating and added its own fair share to this utter feeling of helplessness and guilt that all but consumed me. The nights were crawling by, quiet and dark and never-ending. Sometimes I roamed the hallways of Atlantis like a ghost, trying to exhaust my body into shutting down my brain. Sometimes I paced my room – four steps from the door to the bed, three from the bed to the desk, five from the desk to the Johnny Cash poster and three back again to the door. Or the other way around. There were nights when I tossed and turned, quickly transforming my bed sheets into a crumpled ball pressed against my chest. And then there were those where short fits of terrifying sleep interspersed with what seemed like hours of hugging my own body, covered in cold sweat, my heartbeat so fast and loud that the metal walls of my room seemed to vibrate, staring into the total darkness with eyes that wouldn't have been able to see anything anyway.

I tried to compensate for those useless nights with action-filled days. To do my regular job and try to help fill the void that You left in Your wake and at the same time incessantly work on finding You and getting You back here. But somehow it was always evening already and You had slipped another day further from me.

If I had stopped for a moment and thought about it, I would have realized how close I was to collapsing, how I was running on fumes of hope and guilt, how everybody around me walked on tiptoes even though they had their own grief to deal with. Instead I kept pushing, guided by the belief that if I could only get You back, all would be fixed. And though each evening I cursed the sun for setting, I refused to admit that with every passing day the probability that You would still be alive and that we would somehow be able to find the cruelly taunting star in the night sky that held You captive grew exponentially smaller and in the end the only thing left giving that probability any substance was my maniacal faith.

Until one evening, having exhausted all options again, I asked myself what You would do in this situation. The answer came from within me, but was spoken in Your voice. It said, seemingly in a somewhat accusing tone, that You would never give up.

I didn't think I was giving up either, quite the opposite, really, but then I realized that it wasn't You I was abandoning, but me. And that slowly killing myself this way would not only stop me from being able to continue with the search but it was also the ultimate betrayal of You and everything You had sacrificed. Once my eyes opened, I saw that I was surrounded by others that refused to give up hope, that the underlying goal of every action taken in Atlantis was to find You. And when I closed them again, for the first time in forever the image I saw wasn't the one that was burned into my brain as I watched You disappear into the abyss, the one that wouldn't let me rest at night and whipped me into a raging obsessive tornado during the day. Instead I saw You, turning around to face me as I entered the balcony, a serene smile on Your lips and Your eyes shining with passion.

I'd barely made it to my bed when the giant accumulated wave of exhaustion overtook me, propelling me into a long dreamless sleep that allowed my body to recharge and my mind to reorganize and when I finally woke up, my vision was clean and clear. You trusted me with two things – Your city and finding You. In that order. The trust we had in one another was like an ultimate promise, the one, certain, tangible thing that could never be broken, that could never be taken away from us. If I trusted You with my life and my heart then I must also trust the choices You made. Should You really be dead, that is the one thing I can still do for You. And should You one day find out that I didn't, I would lose You anyway.

I can't afford to believe anymore – that You are alive and that things will ever go back to the way they were. It would make everything I do until then uninspired, every decision I make temporary, every solution provisional, every choice partial. It would make me mishandle the city. And though I sometimes hate You for forcing me to put You in second place, I know that I don't really have any option.

I will not give up. I might not believe, but my hope will never die.

Love,

John


	5. Pleasure

#5 Pleasure

Do You remember what You wanted to become when you were 16? What was it when You were 6? What is Your first memory? The first thing I remember is the sky, vast and blue, stretching over me. I don't know how old I was, I don't even think that the memory is of one particular moment. It's more likely that it is the collective sky of my early childhood – my view from the pram my mother pushed me around in and from the blanket laid out on the lawn in the back yard where I could lay for hours, staring up. When I was 6 I wanted to be a pilot. When I was 16 I wanted to be an Air Force pilot. And of course everything wasn't as simple as that, but then again it was. My becoming a soldier is no accident, no escape route, not blindly following family traditions or having been brainwashed by an inspirational recruiter. I simply became what I always was.

There are certain things you must accept when you decide to become a soldier, especially if you choose it as a career. I suppose that applies to most professions, but it is clear that being a soldier defines who you are more than most. Of course there's the whole putting your life on the line thing, but you also must accept that sooner or later you will probably kill somebody, quite possibly while looking them in the eye, and that you will have to find a way to deal with that so that it wouldn't change or break you. You must accept that you are always representing something bigger than yourself. You must accept the toll that your life being in constant danger takes of the people around you and of your relationships with those people. And on top of all that you must accept that your every move is governed by a pretty rigid set of rules that are never to be questioned and that you will never be in charge of the final call – there is always somebody above you whose authority is absolute.

You knew me well enough to understand that there are things way more important to me than rules and that I am not in the habit of following anything blindly. This is what got me in trouble back on Earth, but it's also why I am so well suited to the job I have here – it requires somebody who, while acutely aware of the cause-and-effect nature of things, can demonstrate flexibility with what he is given. I have no moral qualms about breaking the rules if the end goal justifies it. But I am also old enough to know that breaking the rules for the sake of breaking them, for the cheap thrill you might get out of being a rebel is stupid and, in this line of work, will end up getting people killed.

I don't have to tell You what set the boundaries to our relationship. I most probably know why You drew the line in the sand and I was the person whose behavior towards and around You inevitably determined how the military personnel of the city regarded You. But also, if somebody should ever ask me what I wanted to be when I was, say, 36, I would have to answer that, with all my heart, I wanted to be whatever You needed me to be.

Fate is sometimes hard and cynical, taunting us with choices that aren't really there and handing us perfect puzzle pieces that don't really match. Here they both were – the job of my dreams and the woman of my dreams and there was no point in even presenting it as a choice, because, had I chosen the latter I would have lost You both. And as a bonus, would have had to live with knowing that I had also cost You everything that was important to You.

So, there were certain things that I, or, I guess, both of us, had to accept (it's not really possible to convince yourself out of love) and set aside. There is no room for self-destruction on Atlantis and I would have never forgiven myself if I had somehow become a burden for You. I'm glad that on this occasion You did not insist on getting things off my chest, I suspect that would have been like opening a Pandora's box. The irony of nothing in this galaxy being conventional is not lost on me – I guess our relationship was just following the trend.

It seems pointless and, all things considered, pointlessly cruel, to stop myself now. I guess, when it comes down to it, the temptation of substituting the blinding pain with the sweet is too much. And there's really no harm in it, as long as I remember to pull out before the realization that I have missed all my chances hits me.

I don't try to stop the images anymore. Of You, hair wet and barefoot, wearing my old jeans that hang low on Your hips and my favorite t-shirt tied in a knot under Your breasts, baring the perfect arch of Your back. You, naked and asleep on my bed, tangled in impossibly white bed sheets, dark curls spread out like a halo on my pillow while Your long limbs bask in the rays of the morning sun slanting in through the window. Your eyes, green and shining and loving, looking back at me from across the Control Room, or the balcony, or from a few inches away as I lean in to kiss You.

And, when I forget myself, as I every so often inevitably do, of little girls with auburn locks and dimpled smiles and boys with green eyes and unruly dark hair, of lazy Sunday mornings and holding hands at movies and all the ridiculous little things that break a grown man's heart.

Without You I wouldn't even know that someone's mere existence and presence (even if that presence was way too short) could fill my life so completely, could bring me so much pleasure that all the pain in the world would be worth it. I say that as someone who knows what all the pain in the world feels like. But we've already covered that topic.

Love,

John


	6. Encourage

#3 Encourage

Do You remember the smell of that Athosian soap that You used to wash Your hair with after You ran out of shampoo our first year here? I think Teyla had to have had it cooked together just for You – the fresh, sharp minty aroma softened by something that immediately reminded me of the sweet innocence of spring. How come I remember it so well? How could I not? I could almost physically feel the smell seep into my skin every time You were near me, it was a better keepsake than Your picture would have been and I am pretty sure that there were nights when that smell alone kept me tossing and turning in my bed for hours, my desires drifting from simply burying my face into Your dark curls (at the more innocent end of the spectrum) to rubbing the soap slowly into Your hair with my own hands, Your head tilted back and eyelids fluttering with bliss as the shower cascaded over our naked bodies (at the other end, reserved exclusively for the guiltiest of pleasures). And now, having brought those moments back to myself, I can smell it again, as if You were leaning over my shoulder, trying to sneak a peek at what I am writing.

This is not, of course, a hobby I have taken up now – collecting and cataloguing memories. It would be too late. Just as this is obviously not the first time that we have been apart, far out of reach of the actual touch, look, word or smell. There have been caves and tents, the occasional jail cell, barn, interrogation room or hive ship, waiting for mornings, waiting for rescue, waiting for the end. I hate waiting. Or maybe it's just the not knowing that I hate. I feel as if my skin doesn't fit me anymore, as if there's not enough air to breathe, I feel an angry roar or a completely uncharacteristic profanity building momentum in my throat and I am ready to do anything. Anything other than just wait. Counting to ten doesn't help, or to a hundred, or a thousand, for that matter. I was constantly at the brink of getting myself into even bigger trouble until I realized what does seem to do the trick and gives me the strength and courage to push though that restlessness. You.

And, amazingly enough, the smallest, most mundane aspects of You. I could keep myself busy for hours, raking through my memory for the most microscopic thing that would bring a smile to my face. (The way I could always tell when You had fallen asleep at Your desk again, because Your eyelashes were all ruffled up – from the way You supported Your face on Your arm? Your habit of pushing the sleeves of Your t-shirt up on Your shoulders when You were irritated or nervous? Or the way You, renowned intergalactic diplomat and stoical leader, always crossed Your fingers behind Your back when You stood at the gate room, waiting for the gate to spit out unexpected visitors?)

The stream is dry now. No way to refresh my stock or check my data. And sometimes I catch myself almost wondering whether a particular memory is real or whether it is one of those wistful fantasies my mind has created to compensate. Today I can still make out the difference – the aftertaste of real is definitely more pungent – but what if one day I can't? If my memories are not real anymore, will You stop being real as well? And an even scarier thought – what if You will slip away from me altogether?

I have forgotten so many things in my life. Things that are better off forgotten and things that don't matter and things that I should have remembered and things I swore I would never forget. And I am so afraid that I will forget You. Not all of You, of course, that would only be possible if I were to lose my mind (and, this being the neighborhood it is, now I can of course picture my brain in a container somewhere…). As long as I remember that I am me, You can't go anywhere – You are a part of my DNA. But I am scared to lose the little bits, Your laughter lines and the way that You used to twirl Your fork between Your fingers, the stray curls that fell on Your cheeks, the way Your eyes widened pretty much the same way with every strong emotion in You – anger, desire, fear, amusement, disbelief, love – and I was one of the very few who could instantly tell which one it was…

God… there are so many things, bigger and smaller, that make up a person and it seems that the more of those things you notice, the more room you give to that person in your life. And the bigger the void when she's gone. As if I claimed those parts of You, named them after myself like some Medieval explorer (Your Johneyes and Your Johncurls and the Johnlines of Your laughter…) and then the turtles or whales or whoever were supposed to carry the world on their backs just took off with all my laboriously acquired proud possessions.

It sometimes feels like You also left with about half of my components (including all my nuances). I hope that wherever You are, You are putting them into good use, that they keep You a little bit warmer and a little bit stronger and that one day You'll find a way to bring them back to me.

Love,

John


	7. Sing

#8 Sing

Do You remember that song they sang at the harvest festival, at the very end, right before the sunrise? About the circles of life, beginnings and ends, growing up and growing old and things that last forever. About the flame inside of us that we must share and pass on so that it would never go out. You looked at me from across the bonfire with those wistful eyes and suddenly those eyes were all I could see and the song, the song was just about us.

It was still dark when I quietly made my way through the crowd and came to stand behind You, so close that, though we weren't actually touching, I could feel the life coursing through You and You slipped Your hand in mine and suddenly everything that I felt and wanted and dreamed about was weighing down on my chest and then it was fogging my sight and then finally hovering above us and I had never felt that heavy or that light before.

They sang about things that bring us together and about finding one's place and one's pace in life. About the one that gives us wings, but holds on tight so that we won't drift away from where we belong. I heard You sigh, the sweet content way You had of exhaling at moments when You thought You had everything You wished for, but I wanted to give You so much more.

I gently tugged at Your hand and You moved that final inch backwards, leaning into me and I suddenly couldn't remember it ever being any other way. Come on, I said, my lips touching Your ear and we slipped through the crowd, careful not to be noticed. As we found the pathway in the receding darkness, we heard them singing of seasons changing, but hearts staying true and the song still waved through the air, probably long after the trees had drowned out their voices for us.

I felt as if I should say something, but looking into Your eyes, I suddenly realized that there was nothing left for me to say that You didn't already know. There are moments in life when the "I love You's" are important, when they add significance and meaning to an encounter, when they solidify or clarify something, when they are met with gratitude or relief, when they are said for selfish reasons – to get the ball out of your court. This was not one of those moments. You were there and so was I and that alone said more than any combination of words ever could.

I don't even know how my fingertips ended up sliding up and down Your jaw line, because Your eyes were so near and so deep and in there I could see everything that You meant to me and though I guess I had known before, I now had no doubt that, as in so many other things, in our hearts we were the same as well. You leaned Your face into my palm and I had to close my eyes, because the electricity of the moment was too much for all my senses to take in at once. This thing, it had been there, between us, for so long, so near, yet always out of reach. And now here You were, soft and glowing and loving me too and thinking it's a good thing, sighing contentedly, as if it was already making You a better person. Three years is a hell of a build-up and even if you don't ever really expect this moment to _really_ come, you can't help your expectations and the heights they might conquer. So often Reality fails our dreams. But this, You, with Your face in my hand, in this impossibly still, crisp moment right before the sunrise, I felt like my heart was going to explode in my chest – this was more than I could ever dream of, more than I ever really even knew to want. I couldn't waste these chances of committing You, my You, to my memory. I opened my eyes. You were smiling.

This was it, the last time we almost kissed, because as I leaned in to taste that smile, You raised Your free hand, brushed gently across my cheek with Your palm and turned to walk further down the path. Your other hand still securely in mine, I followed You. When we reached the grassy clearing by the sea, I understood why You wanted to come. Far across the calm blue expanse, the sky had lit up in a litany of purples and pinks – the sun was rising. I stood still for a split second, admiring Your lean, straight silhouette against the backdrop of this first light and then pulled You into my arms. Your hair brushed against my face as You let Your head hang back, onto my shoulder and the fleeting thought that maybe I was holding You too tight slipped through my mind, but I couldn't really help it, because I felt this burning need to draw every inch of You against me, into me, and You didn't really mind, as You placed Your arms on top of mine and added Your strength to the force that was dragging us together. I pressed my lips to Your exposed neck, feeling Your pounding pulse against my mouth and then You suddenly turned around in my arms and it was just a kiss or maybe it was my whole life, because compared to this, everything else seemed meaningless and unimportant and then there was nothing else at all. Your body molded into mine and Your lips, scorching intense and lovingly tender on my mouth and I thought that if I was to never really get to be with You, this definitely was the best damn way to do it.

Then the yellows and oranges joined the dance in the sky and eventually the sun itself and we did at one point say it, those three words, when there was nothing to gain or to lose anymore, because it was one more thing that was allowed at that morning that had slipped us out of time and space. There was a silent pledge made – that You were mine (and I could think or even say that without a hint of possessiveness; that's just the way it was) and I was Yours (and I had been long before the pledge). That was something we took back with us, to the everyday where my life wasn't my own any more than Your life was Yours.

Being the sole possessor of the memory of those moments is not a triumphant task. It, the memory, is not a good bedmate, sometimes managing to keep me warm, but never making me less lonely. I was the happiest man alive, just knowing that I belonged to You. Where do I belong now?

Love,

John


	8. Plans

#8 Plans

Do You remember if we ever really talked about what we thought would happen after? Yeah, neither do I. I wonder why that is. We can't have thought that things would stay like this forever. And we didn't actually envisage the end being like this, did we? That all the hard work and sacrifice would just culminate in… nothing?

I'm just trying to figure out whether I had any sort of contingency plan. Obviously not for something like this – having a plan in case your soul mate happens to die would be morbid even for the oddest among us. I guess what I want to know is whether I have only lost my heart (only, right?) or whether I have lost my future, too.

The things that I wanted were simple. So simple, in fact, that they sometimes got even me confused, because I found it hard to spot the line between what was appropriate and what wasn't. I had trouble explaining to myself why it was okay to share my triumphs and my fears and my dreams with You, but it wasn't okay to share my bed. Why holding Your gaze was allowed but holding Your hand was not. This division didn't really redefine our relationship – it didn't mean that this way we were just friends whereas otherwise we would have been something more. It just meant that part of our relationship was missing. Of course we were friends, but it's just as obvious that we were something more.

You know what Teyla said to me once after seeing us talking to each other? "I wish I had that." I asked her what she meant. "That kind of confidence in loving someone and in being loved." I guess she was talking about both of us. Some things were set in stone long ago.

Look at everything we had… Think of all the things we would have missed out on without it… Did You ever think You were giving up something, that we were something that got sacrificed to the greater good? I doubt I ever even saw it that way. I have known that You were the One for what seems like forever. It's not like I had lost You to something, to Atlantis, to the dizzying labyrinth of rules and obligations – You were right there and all I had to do was look at You to be convinced that the ties that bound us would always be there. Of course I wanted more, but that confidence, the one that Teyla mentioned, I guess it never left any room for doubting that one morning You would wake up in my arms. And then every morning after that.

The funny thing is that I never thought I would be that guy, the one that tolerates that many shades of gray – I could never understand people who let circumstance come in the way of having a complete, well-rounded relationship. Obviously you don't see your future children in the eyes of every woman that passes through your arms, but I always thought that, should I find one in whose I do, letting go of it would be immeasurably better than a fuzzy prospect of an unspecified someday. That kind of a barely holding on to a relationship seemed undignified to me, shortchanging oneself and a waste of time.

And then I found myself in the middle of it and somehow proudly walking away just because I couldn't get everything I wanted right then seemed unthinkable, impossible even. This was it, this was forever and right now is only but a flash of light, a fleeting moment, so betting everything on it would have been stupid. And the idea that I had some sort of a choice in the matter started to seem downright ridiculous.

I know I am rambling now, but that is because tonight there are all these questions doing a merry-go-round in my head and it's quite possible that they do not even have any answers, that Your departure somehow made the Universe automatically rearrange itself like a kaleidoscope making the things that I was supposed to have completely inconsequential, but I feel that for the sake of my own sanity I need to keep asking them.

Was I going to marry You? Was I picking out the names of our children? Were my goals that specific? My mind is a whirlwind – I don't know anymore. I think they might have been even more specific, though. I think I wanted everything. I wanted all of You.

When was it going to be our time, Elizabeth?

Who knew that it is harder to let go of the future than it is to let go of the past?

Love,

John


	9. Peace

#9 Peace

Do You remember how many different ways there are to say goodbye? On some planets people touch their foreheads together, on some it's the fingertips, some bow and some raise their hats and then there were those Eikaneia people that simply bumped their butts together and walked away without looking back. In some places where death had a way of coming often and suddenly every farewell was said as if it was the last so that you wouldn't regret the things that were left unsaid when it was too late to do anything about it (though, I bet that made for some pretty embarrassing homecomings) and in others it was forbidden to acknowledge the parting of ways in any way at all, the prevailing school of thought being that it would just bring on bad luck.

I obviously don't know how to say goodbye to You and I am starting to suspect that I never will. I can't really see You not being a factor in everything I do in my life and, to be quite honest, I can't see the benefit of things not being that way either. You are a part of every good thing in me and if there is something that I have to accept as a result of this whole process, I'd rather it be that.

And I don't feel like we were somehow cheated out of a chance for closure, because we didn't know that our last moment together would, indeed, be the last moment, that we didn't get to recognize it somehow. Because what good would the knowledge that I am about to lose You have done me?

The letters haven't been for nothing, though – honesty does have its liberating qualities, especially if it's geared towards oneself. I feel better, less confused, more certain about what we had, who we were in each others' lives. And, strangely enough, having admitted how afraid I am of some things, how much I have lost, I feel more confident. I guess it's a case of the preferable Devil being the one I am familiar with – at least I know what I'm up against. And saying that I love You just feels good, light and warm in the pit of my stomach – I don't know what it is about this emotion that makes it so hard to keep it from verbally and physically spilling over, but, seeing as there are not that many things that make me feel good these days, I tend not to question the ones that do.

But as far as making peace with the Fate that took You from me, I can't say that any progress has been made on that front and the way things seem to be going, any peace at all will be a long time coming.

Days are still not brothers, sometimes You are closer, sometimes further away, and I have slowly learned to listen to myself, determine how much effort picking myself up requires today. Learn what will make things better and what will make them worse.

I realized that I can't keep these letters. I can't stop myself from going back to them, reading them over and over again, trying to see if maybe I have already figured it all out and missed it. Trying to hang on to You by the things that I tell You. I am afraid that if I keep talking to You like this, I will just make You less real – I don't want some figment of my imagination, I want You. Having to share my future with a You that is not really You would break my heart. Damn, am I even making any sense? How about this way – if I have to resort to making You up, if the conversation I have with You is not in any way based on something we shared in real life, then I will have lost You for good.

This is the last letter. I haven't said all that I have wanted to say, not by long measure, but now it seems right to keep some things inside me, hidden deep in my core. To keep some things unsaid, like a promise or a possibility that maybe there will be some better day to say them. I will wrap myself in the love I have for You and be a worthier person because of it. I will not complain or regret, won't shut out the Universe, I will be there for my friends and my city. I will not forget. I will not give up. But You are my most private possession, one that I will hold close to my heart, and I refuse to share You with anyone or anything, not even a piece of paper.

I am taking these letters to Your room, placing them in one of those crates lining the wall. Not the perfect address, but, considering the circumstances, probably the likeliest one. I would hope that if anyone finds them there they would have the decency to respect our privacy. Or that so much time would have been passed by then that it would not matter who we were and all they will learn is that there once was a man on Atlantis who loved a woman more than even he thought was humanly possible. And that there was a strong and beautiful woman whose love made a man want to be a better person, a better man.

Not goodbye, my love. Never goodbye.

Love,

John


	10. Safety

#10 Safety

Figures. We never did seem to get the timing right. That's something we really need to work on. So now I am here and You are off-world and they tell me that they won't be able to contact You before tomorrow and if I hadn't reached the peak of frustration quite some time ago already, this, here, would do the trick. I won't be here tomorrow and, come to think of it, maybe it is better that You aren't here to see me walk back through that gate again. (If I were You I wouldn't trust me out of Your sight again, either, but this time I will be back – I just have a debt to settle with those that helped me back home. So don't bite Carter's head off when You find out.)

I have been to so many planets in the past months that they are all a blur in my mind, have travelled in airships and submarines and I am not even sure how long I have been away because days, it turns out, are not really an objective way to measure time, but I know that it has been way too long. I have been dependent on the kindness of so many people, I have walked for days and had narrow escapes in the dead of the night, I have bargained and I have fought and I have told my story on countless home worlds in countless variations and our story, once or twice, to those most deserving of it. And, judging by their reactions, John, I think we are the stuff legends are made of. I think that the song, at that dawn, really was about us.

I found Your letters last night, in the breast pocket of my uniform jacket in one of those crates in my room, neatly tied up with a ribbon, and in all these desperate months it was the first time that I cried myself to sleep. There are so many things that I have realized now, running from place to place, trying to hang on to who I am and where I belong to. And most of these realizations have to do with You and I can't wait to share them with You, but I have waited too long, been through too much to waste on a letter what I could tell You myself. What are a few more days if I will then be able not only to see You, but also touch You, taste You…

Still, there are some things that I want to say now, and in the future, things that should be said often and that will not lose any value in repetition.

I am proud of You. Despite everything You have been the man I always knew You were, the man to whom I would trust everything dear to me in this life in a heartbeat. Nobody has ever made me feel so safe, so secure.

I want You. Your body and soul. Your strong hands and Your soft eyes and the defiant line of Your chin. Your heartbeats and Your dreams and Your love. I want You now, so much that it hurts, and I'll want Your tomorrow and in 40 years when we are both old and wrinkled. I want Your kisses and Your children, Your days and nights.

I love You. And I hope that one day I will find a way to show You just how much.

Now, John. Our time is now. And now.

And now.

Elizabeth


End file.
